Too Late For John Waston
by TrustMeImSherlock
Summary: It's been three years, John's alone. He has nothing to live for. Reichenbach spoilers, thoughts of suicide, likelihood of possible crying and a bit of Johnlock fluff at the end.


**Too Late for John Watson**

It had been over three years since my only true friend's suicide, I had lost all touch with the outside world. The cold confinements of 221B were the only place I felt remotely close to anyone and he was dead.

But too me he wasn't, he was always there, in my nightmares, in my dreams, he walked around the house constantly talking at me about a whole range of new cases and how Mycroft would look if he lost weight for once, but then sometimes at the dead of night when I was wrapped in the cold sweats, he would sit at the end of my bed, analysing me.

Even when occasionally Mrs Hudson came to see me, he would be there but she never saw him, it was all in my mind, the vivid hallucinations of the only person I've ever truly cared about.

Mycroft had stopped calling after the first 18 months, I hadn't even expected him to carry on keeping in contact for that long. Molly occasionally sent the odd text but I was never in the mood to reply, I just stared at them, sometimes asking Sherlock what I should do, if I should text her back.

Lestrade, Harry and even Donovan had tried to coax me out of the flat but they too had given up hope, and anyway they only felt pity for me, I would be the worse person to spend time with, I wouldn't talk, just stare at the tall figure haunting me, his cold grey eyes piercing through me, he was the only one who knew even slightly how I felt and he was a dead sociopath

I could see why Sherlock had always called everyone stupid, couldn't they see what was happening to me, I was going insane. As a doctor I could easily diagnose a steady progression towards insanity caused by emotional trauma.

Every waking moment had become a chore, and the small snippets of sleep I could get were filled with Sherlock, him falling replaying over and over again. Every time it seemed to get more real and therefore worse, the blood seemed darker, the wound on his head, deeper and the tangled limps even more distorted. I would wake up, heart pounding, in a panic, shaking, drenched in sweat and screaming. Mrs Hudson had come up the first few times after hearing me screaming, but now she had become used to it, and I invested in some earplugs for her to make sure I was the only one who couldn't sleep.

I had seen so many physiologists none of them could help. It was the same thing over and over again:

"You need to talk about it John, you need to understand and get your mind to realise he isn't going to come back John, it will take time John."

But none of their words had worked, so they had tried filling me with medication. Pills after pills, one to help me sleep, another to help with the nightmares, a few for the hallucinations and even more for depression. They just clogged me up and everything became fuzzy and I was unable to process the world less everyday. I made myself stop taking them, they were not helping me at all, the hallucinations came back as soon as I stopped, it was like seeing him come back from the dead, following me around the flat and sitting beside me with those eyes constantly fixed on me.

But now everything had got worse, the visions of Sherlock had stopped talking all together, at least being able to talk to him stopped me from the loneliness but now I was completely alone, just a shadow following me. The nightmares became too real, smell, touch and sounds were so vivid, I had stopped being able to tell the difference between the real world and the dreams.

I still made tea for two, just left his cup by the sofa as I tried to keep up to date with the world via the newspapers that Mrs Hudson brought up for me, I kept looking up to see if he was drinking his tea but every time the hallucination would just sit there staring at me.

This time I would prove my mind wrong, I would show myself he was dead and then I might just be able to start living instead of just keeping myself alive. I walked towards the vision, he was standing there with an almost puzzled look on his face, his lips began to quiver and pull themselves into a smirk.

"John, your going mad, I'm not really here, and you will never get over me, don't try and make me go away because I never will and you know that". He was trying to stop me showing my self the truth, my mind didn't want to give up the idea of Sherlock being alive, I had become my own enemy and now I was gonna stop it. I lifted my hand, slowly and it had suddenly gained weight and felt and if there was a force pushing against it. This was just my mind, I kept telling myself, just my mind not wanting to let go. My finger tips were millimetres away from the fabric that hung on his slim frame. Closer and closer, till finally. Nothing. He had gone, I was truly alone now.

"John it isn't your mind stopping you from letting go, I'm not your mind, I'm your heart."

I turned around, swivelling on my heel. Nothing was behind or in front of me, but I could still hear him. The heavy breathing down my neck.

"John how about we play a game? Forget Moriarty's games, they were boring, too easy. So John how about you try and find me, how about that?" It seemed as if he was whispering in my ear, I could feel the heat radiating off him on the back of my neck.

"Your not real, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Now John, play my game and then I will."

"Your not real so I can't find you, I never will, so you will never leave me alone."

The floorboards started creaking, it was getting closer to me. I started to back away towards my chair, it carried on getting closer and closer, but then started coming from every angle. I was herded towards my chair, I fell back onto it, my spine hitting it with a thump.

I began shaking uncontrollably, then the sweating started.

"Now John if you look hard enough, and put everything on the line you will find me and then I promise, I will leave you alone."

I grabbed at my left wrist, twisting and turning my arm causing me pain that I was sure would of woken me up if this was a nightmare but it was, this was real. Far too real.

"I have nothing left to put on the line, to risk. I have nothing left, no friends, nothing to live for."

"Exactly John you have only one thing left. You."

The penny dropped, my heart was speaking, this defiantly wasn't my mind, a soldiers brain would never tell him to kill himself but his heart would. My heart was right, what did I have left, how I'd even come this far without the thought crossing his mind. I had come to far into this madness and now there was no turning back.

I walked towards the kitchen, picked up a knife that I had washed a few days before. I held it up to the sunlight that had now entered the room, light bounced of it onto several edges of the room. The voice had gone, finally left me as I walked towards my chair and sat down. At least it would be a comfy end. Again I held the knife up towards the light, and I felt it weight, light, easy enough to make a clean cut, it even looked similar to some of the surgical scalpels I had been required to use in Afghanistan. It was not to thin so it would allow more blood to flow quicker. I should stop dwelling on what I was about to do, it would just make it harder.

I pulled down the sleeve on my left hand and balanced the blade on my wrist. I lifted it a few centimetres from the main blood carrying vessels and with a swift movement, cut.

"AGHHHH." This wasn't a scream that I let out during my nightmares, it was a scream of relief. My body started slipping down of the chair until I was on the floor, all tension that had been holding me up was now letting go. I breathed out, feeling the cold liquid fall down, covering my body.

"John!"

"You said you would leave me." I could only master a husky tone.

"What have you done John, I'm alive what have you done!"

"Stop it, I've done what you've said now leave me."

"John don't leave me, p-please John, it's my fault."

"Your dead Sherlock, I'll see you soon and anyway you have always been with me, you are my heart."

"And you are mine, so don't die, you taught me to care, now don't take that away from me, I'll never care again for anyone else but you."

Everything became even more painful, I had even begun torturing myself with the vision of Sherlock again. But it was hazy and so couldn't make out the details in his face, even though it was a vision at least it would be the last face I see. "I don't mind that you are a hallucination, your here and that's all I care about."

"John you aren't listening to me, I'm alive, I didn't die, Molly kept me hidden, I was saving you, I was making sure... I was making sure you stayed a-alive because I couldn't watch you die, it would tear me up in pieces and you're doing that right now, you're tearing me up."

I couldn't make out anything in the room any more, just abstract shapes and colours. Sherlock was speaking to me, telling me he was alive, he must be lying, its just a vision. I'll see the real him very soon. "Sherlock I'll see you soon, you are my heart and always have been, I suppose I love you." It was getting darker and darker till everything had gone.

"I love you too John, I love you too."


End file.
